


Harder Times

by alderations



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Memories, Fluff and Angst, M/M, kind of, that's all you need to know, zenyatta's baby pictures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alderations/pseuds/alderations
Summary: There was a photo album halfway across the top shelf, pushed farther back than the rest of the books, as if whoever had put it there tried too hard to hide it.Zenyatta finds a few memories, and shares a few more.





	Harder Times

In his months of close observation, Zenyatta had realized that both Shimadas took well to redirection when their moods started to plummet. This was most important when both were suffering from nasty bouts of insomnia, like tonight, after a mission gone very wrong left half the team struggling with their consciences instead of sleeping. It was almost second nature for Zenyatta to float between the brothers, placating one while distracting the other, until they remembered how to behave like grown men who loved one another instead of petty toddlers. That’s how Zenyatta found himself digging through a bookshelf in the rec room, sorting through crinkled cookbooks and old “classics” (according to Reinhardt) in search of some way to distract the sleep-deprived agents filtering into the room behind him. It was two in the morning. For once, Zenyatta wished that he could drink the coffee that was currently tickling his olfactory sensors.

 

There was a photo album halfway across the top shelf, pushed farther back than the rest of the books, as if whoever had put it there tried too hard to hide it. Hanzo’s immaculate  _ kanji _ gave it away. When Zenyatta pulled it out from the shelf and took a peek—sending out a mild electromagnetic sensory pulse just to ensure that no one was approaching—he found a page full of photos of toddlers. They could’ve been anyone, he thought, but he would know Genji’s brilliant eyes anywhere, piercing and joyful and too sharp for such a young boy. The child next to him, already so stern and tumultuous, had to be Hanzo. This would be good distraction fodder for later, Zenyatta wagered, and he tucked it under one arm as he turned back toward his somber, sleep-bound companions.

 

He didn’t need much rest, only enough to let his circuits process a given day’s events while he recharged, but all the same Zenyatta’s floating form was starting to wobble. “Look,” called Genji, one hand on his brother’s shoulder, “even Master needs some sleep. This is ridiculous.”

 

“And yet you’re drinking coffee,” Hanzo muttered.

 

Zenyatta settled onto the rec room sofa, positioned that he could see Hanzo’s face while still tucked against Genji’s side. “Indeed, I could use a… prolonged meditation session. But we should not blame our minds for grappling with the day’s events, Genji.”

 

“You can just call it a nap. We all know what you’re talking about,” Genji stage-whispered. Zenyatta barely held back a metallic giggle.

 

As the brothers picked up their bickering again, Zenyatta swept the room to ensure that none of his friends and fellow agents needed his help at that moment. He would be loath to leave Genji’s side, but thankfully, all seemed well: Hana and Brigitte were building a nest of pillows and blankets in front of their giant gaming holoscreen, while McCree and Fareeha took over the brewing of various caffeinated beverages. Reinhardt, Torbjörn, and Mei sat at a table nearby, playing a card game that Lena was apparently making up as she went, judging by the looks on the others’ faces. Behind them, Satya and Zarya compared notes on a holopad, brows crumpled and eyes sharp. Zenyatta made a mental note to keep an eye on them, in case they decided to start experimenting with the laws of physics in the early hours of the morning. Again.

 

Genji pulled his attention back by grabbing one of Zenyatta’s hands and winding their fingers together, his synthetic palm soft on Zenyatta’s fingertips. Then their knuckles brushed, and the scrape of metal on metal sent unexpected tingles down Zenyatta’s wiring, while Hanzo’s face scrunched up in mild agony. Zenyatta wished, just for a moment, that he had facial expressions so that he could apologize for the sound without Genji noticing. He settled for staring in Hanzo’s general direction and hoping that he would understand, though omnic mind-reading was never one of Hanzo’s stronger skills.

 

“What are you hiding from us, hm?” asked Genji, his chin hooked over Zenyatta’s shoulder. He’d never admit it out loud, but Zenyatta loved how affectionate his boyfriend got when he was sleepy, even if being nuzzled with a steel visor was… unpleasant. It was a worthwhile sacrifice. “You’ve got something under your arm. I don’t know—wait, Hanzo, what are you—?”

 

_ “Where did you find that?”  _ Hanzo hissed, cutting his brother off mid-sentence.

 

Zenyatta tilted his head, imitating something like a smile. “I was just perusing the bookshelf over there,” he explained. “It was displayed rather prominently, after all.”

 

Hanzo glowered back, but didn’t say anything else. Apparently, he knew full well that his attempts at hiding the photo album were useless, and he knew better than to pick a fight with Zenyatta in front of his brother. Rather than engaging, Zenyatta pulled the album into his lap and opened it to find, in his opinion, the cutest human children he had ever seen.

 

Ironically, baby Genji’s hair looked almost the same as his hair did now, on the rare occasion when he took off his helmet and allowed Zenyatta the privilege of seeing it. It looked like he’d been dragged out of bed to play with Hanzo when the picture had been taken: both wore only diapers, and Hanzo’s hair was pinned back behind his ears with clips shaped like tiny koi. Each of them had two chubby hands around the body of a stuffed dragon, though they were both looking at the camera as if interrupted in the middle of their squabble. Genji’s chubby cheeks were dimpled even when he frowned, which Zenyatta had always assumed to be due to his scars, rather than a natural trait. For the first time in his relatively short life, Zenyatta finally understood the human urge to squeeze something so unbearably cute.

 

And, to be fair, Hanzo was cute, too. Even if he wasn’t Genji.

 

McCree was sauntering over from the coffeepot to peek over Zenyatta’s shoulder, while Genji took off his mask so that he could hide his face with his hands, the organic way. “Is that—oh lordy, that cannot be.”

 

“It is,” Zenyatta replied, cool and collected even though Genji was mashing his bare face into the joint of his shoulder.

 

“Wait, you mean to tell me Genji’s always had those dimples?”

 

Zenyatta turned the page of the photo album and found Genji, no more than two years old, destroying a box of tissues with his bare hands. “I had the same thought.”

 

“What, you thought I just manifested them as an adult?” Genji asked.

 

Beside him, Hanzo nudged in closer to get a good look at one of the pictures—a family photo, with both of the boys in tiny three-piece suits. “Dimples are wrinkles. They’re just calling you old.”

 

“They have no right—”

 

“Genji.” Zenyatta’s voice thrummed in the way that he knew would get Genji’s attention every time, deep and dense enough to resonate in his metal skeleton. “You are fifteen years my senior, are you not?”

 

Genji gawked at him, synthetic lip oddly stiffer than his organic one. “Zen, how  _ could  _ you?”

“It’s just a fact, Genji. You’re getting old,” Hanzo chuckled.

 

While Genji grumbled and buried his face in Zenyatta’s shoulder, Zenyatta turned another page, to an eyeful of luminous  _ koinobori.  _ Hanzo was carrying Genji in this picture; the younger appeared to be busy ripping a ribbon out of his hair. Without comment, Zenyatta flipped over to the next set of photos before Genji could notice; already, Hanzo was stiffening and starting to fidget.

 

It wouldn’t do to remind them both of the worst night of their lives, particularly when both served as the other’s constant reminder.

 

The photo album, on the other hand, was just what Zenyatta needed to distract them both in that moment. The next picture featured Genji, no older than five, obviously picking his nose at what looked to be a stuffy family event, while an out-of-focus Hanzo grimaced in the background. Zenyatta couldn’t help the laugh bubbling out of his voice box, so entertained that he didn’t notice Genji staring up at him with sparkling eyes for a few moments.

 

Zenyatta turned his head when he realized that the entire sofa had gone quiet. “What?”

 

“I love you,” Genji cooed in his sappiest voice. Behind him, Hanzo feigned a gag and McCree burst into laughter.

 

Despite their audience, Zenyatta leaned forward to tap his faceplate to Genji’s forehead, as close to a kiss as he would get in front of others. “I love you too, Genji. Now, what in the world are you  _ wearing  _ in this one?”

 

While the Shimada brothers traded verbal blows over each other’s childhood apparel, Zenyatta continued to flip through the photos. He was starting to feel awfully…  _ something,  _ for a being with no organs or brain to feel such things. His chassis was warm, his hands tingled, and every casual touch from Genji tugged at his entire body like a magnet. Zenyatta knew how much he loved Genji, but now he wondered—was this what humans felt? He’d have to ask. Later.

 

They got to seventeen-year-old Genji’s first hair dye by the time Zenyatta had an idea.

 

“Genji, beloved,” he started, head cocked to one side. “Have you ever seen my baby pictures?”

 

“Your—wait, what? Unless I’m seriously missing something, baby omnics don’t exist.”

 

Zenyatta held a hand over his faceplate, as if covering a giggle. “Yes, but when one is fresh off the assembly line, so to speak, it’s not all that different from being a child. Just a more eloquent one.”

 

Eyes wide with curiosity, Genji took the photo album from Zenyatta’s hands and laid it, closed, on the table in front of them. “Please?”

 

“Please what?” Zenyatta prompted, debating the merits of playing coy.

 

“I’m curious too,” McCree cut in. Lena had noticed the conversation too, apparently, since she blinked over with a hand of cards disguising her face and left Reinhardt and Torbjörn even more lost than before.

 

Zenyatta shrugged to himself, which brought his orbs into alignment to nestle around his shoulders. With a flick of one hand, his forehead array glowed briefly and then projected a shimmering cylinder of blue light into the air before him. He flipped through photos permanently stored on his hard drive, skipping the recent ones—mostly of himself with Genji, sometimes featuring Lúcio or Hana—until he found one from months before he joined the Shambali. Another twitch of his wrist, and the picture was in the air, refracted through the light so that it looked the same from any angle.

 

To his surprise, Genji made a sad sound in the back of his throat and nestled closer to his side. “You look so tired,” he murmured.

 

“That I was.” Zenyatta kept his tone casual, reminding Genji that the past was past, for himself as much as his pupil. In the picture, he wore only simple cargo pants, well-worn and threadbare in the harsh mountain light. The ground was covered in snow, interrupted here and there by piles of scrap metal and disembodied omnic parts. Zenyatta, two years old at the time, was standing with a massive shovel in one hand, the other making a peace sign with his knobbly fingers. At the time, his faceplate was a slightly different model, with optic slits straight across rather than tilted downward, and lacking the forehead array that indicated his high status with the Shambali. That faceplate was even more scarred than his current one, and he was missing a couple of fingers on the hand holding the shovel, but his joyful energy still shone through, even in a photo.

 

Lena reached out as if to touch the picture, then thought better of it and patted Zenyatta’s shoulder instead. “You look awfully worse for the wear, Zen. Were you—you weren’t… how do I put this? You didn’t have to, ah, decommission other omnics, yeah?”

 

“No, no.” Zenyatta flipped to the next photo; this one was older, and the ground was carpeted with purple wildflowers, but the omnic parts were still there. “Those remains are all from the Omnic Crisis. I guess in human terms, I would have been closer to an archaeologist than a mortician.”

 

Genji laughed, while Lena and Hanzo stared at him with growing horror. It usually took humans a while to get used to Zenyatta’s deadpan humor, and apparently they hadn’t been around him long enough. He switched over to another picture where he was posing with a group of similarly bland omnics, all wielding shovels and floppy-brimmed hats. At Lena’s quizzical glance, he explained, “We were working with humans at that site, and we didn’t want to risk burning anyone.”

 

“Huh,” Lena grunted. “Were you, like, omnic Peace Corps or what?”

 

Zenyatta tilted his head, right into where Genji was propped up on his shoulder. It was unusual for him to be so snuggly, but Zenyatta found that he didn’t mind in the least. “It was not voluntary. After the Crisis, most of the human governments decided that the, ah, cleanup work should fall on omnic shoulders. But the humans living in the most deeply affected areas did not want to see omnics set foot on their soil again,” he continued, idly rolling one orb between his fingers. “So we—my model was designed to be as non-threatening as possible, so that the people we were trying to help wouldn’t kill us.”

 

“And something tells me that didn’t work?” asked Genji.

 

In lieu of a reply, a half-strangled burst of static came from Zenyatta’s throat, like he’d started a thought and then cut himself off. There was too much to remember for only twenty years. Too much—working under the brilliant sun was one thing, toiling away to drag the remains of his brethren out of the way so no human eyes would have to see such a—a  _ mess.  _ But the violence had been the worst part. That was what led him to the Shambali, missing half his limbs and barely straggling up the mountainside to where he would finally meet his family.  Many of them had similar stories. He could easily remember the omnics who didn’t make it, who became part of the scrap piles and were melted down or incinerated or simply discarded like every other remnant of the Crisis, who—

 

“Zenyatta.”

 

Genji’s voice, as always, was enough to bring him back to reality. “Yes, my dearest?” he responded, though his voice sounded thin even to his own sensors.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Both of Genji’s hands were wrapped around one of Zenyatta’s, and as soon as he looked around, the omnic realized that the rest of his audience had left, apparently shooed off by Genji. He had shut off the projection from his forehead array without realizing. Around his neck, the orbs were all vibrating at different frequencies, bumping into one another and rattling like stones in the tide. As he looked up and into Genji’s eyes, wide and questioning and so deep, they went quiet.

 

“My apologies,” he managed at last. “I have not revisited that time in many months, at least.”

 

There was something indecipherable growing in Genji’s face, in his exaggerated crows’ feet and the scars creasing his forehead. It was strange for Zenyatta to not understand every face he made, though his current state of mind may have contributed to the confusion. Then Genji heaved a shaky sigh and pulled Zenyatta into a hug, arms tight around his waist, and he started to understand.

 

“Oh, Zen,” Genji murmured, lips against the side of his faceplate. “We really are more alike than we realize.”

 

Zenyatta looked around the room, at their exhausted teammates slowly moving toward their respective beds, and then back at Genji wrapped around him as if the slightest distance would melt them both. “Yes. I believe we are.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was my piece for the Genyatta Zine, vol. 2, which I believe is still taking orders!! [Check it out!](http://genyattazine.tumblr.com/post/174114488853/we-walk-in-harmony-vol-2-is-now-up-for-pre-order)
> 
> And for my Loyal Readers, I am not dead. I promise. I'm spending the summer at an undisclosed biological field station, studying turtle population ecology. (My scientific conclusion: turtles....cute.) If you want to talk Science Talk, I'm kinda trying to shift my [tumblr](genderfluidjessemccree.tumblr.com) toward being half-and-half fandom and science (when I'm on) so come say hi! I also have the kind of energy right now that I haven't had in years, so hopefully I'll be back to writing soon. I haven't figured out how to balance being a Baby Professional with having real human hobbies yet.
> 
> thanks for reading <3


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